


Nightcrimes

by acostarsandwriting



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crime, a court of court and roses, nightcrimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-04-14 15:01:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acostarsandwriting/pseuds/acostarsandwriting
Summary: When Feyre Archeron, director of a major bank, is the victim of an attempted robbery, she is suddenly reintroduced to her old highschool sweetheart, Rhys. Rhys is exactly as she remembered, except darker than ever; and it seems that he is no stranger to crime. Feyre’s life is about to drastically change - and whenever Rhys is involved, that can’t be a very good thing.





	1. Chapter 1

Feyre had dealt with a good amount of angry customers as a bank director. She’d had people yell at her for not being able to access their accounts, for not agreeing with their opening hours, even for having cheques declined – how could she help it that they spent all their money? She’d been yelled at a lot. But never like this.   
“EVERYBODY ON THE GROUND AND KEEP YOUR FACES DOWN,” yelled one of the four ski mask covered people now causing chaos in the entrance hall. Automatic rifles in hand, they pointed them at everyone not fast enough to drop to the floor. Including Feyre.

“I SAID GET DOWN!” One man’s attention had landed on her. She was halfway through deciding whether to comply or to be defiant – it was  _her_  legacy here. She wasn’t used to be told what to do. She’d been trained for these situations, of course, and you couldn’t outwit a gun with pure stubbornness – but she still stood frozen to the floor.   
The man who’d yelled at her stalked over towards where she was standing. Hazel eyes bored into hers, determination burning bright. “I said get  _down_ , missy, or you’ll be having a few –“  
He stopped talking abruptly. Scanned her face. Her eyes. He squinted his own a bit, and then – “oh  _fuck._ ” Realization seemed to dawn on his face, but Feyre could only savor the moment for a second before he bellowed out a command, and the entire team disappeared as fast as they’d arrived.

Hours later, Feyre was seated in a police interrogation room, a hot cup of tea getting cold in her hands. Police had arrived at the scene only a few minutes after the gang was gone – Lucien, their chief officer and an old classmate, had taken in Feyre and a few of the bank customers who weren’t too shaken up to give statements. He hadn’t looked too happy about what Feyre had told him. When she looked up from the steaming liquid in her cup, she saw Lucien’s red hair through the door of the room.   
“So, I’ve made a few calls,” he said, closing the door. “And it turns out, miss Archeron –“  
“Please call me Feyre, Lucien”  
“- okay, Feyre. Either way, as it turns out… You’ve had quite a bout of luck there. That wasn’t just any gang. Those were members of the Illyrian gangs. I assume you’ve heard about them?”  
Feyre swallowed. Yes, she’d heard of them – they were notorious for their perfectly executed heists. They didn’t make mistakes. So… why did they make one today? The question must have shown in her eyes, because Lucien sat down with a grave look on his face.   
“Feyre..” He seemed to search the right words. “Do you.. do you know who runs the gang?”  
She shook her head.   
“It’s run by a friend of yours.”  
That got her to snap her head up. “ _Excuse me?_ ” She had detailed information on all of her friends. You didn’t become a millionaire banker by trusting everyone.   
Lucien fidgeted with his badge. “I’m not saying you have bad friends, Feyre. I’m just – I don’t..” It wasn’t like Lucien to stutter like this.   
“Who is it, Lucien.”   
“Rhys.”  
She was out of the room before he could say anything else.

_Rhysand_ had decided to rob her? Rhys? Out of all people? Sure, they had only dated for about 8 months, and yeah, she’d been 15 while he was 18 so of course it didn’t last. But it had been fun, hadn’t it? And they’d parted on good terms? How  _dare_ he try to rob her like that? Were they even after the bank, or after her? Feyre stalked out of the police station. Stalked right out onto the main street, fuming from anger, from disbelief, from – wait. In all of her shock, she’d forgotten that she technically wasn’t really robbed at all. His henchmen had taken one look at her and backed off. Would they have recognized her? What the hell did that even mean? There was only one way to figure it out – to ask.

“Hello Feyre,  _darling_.”   
Feyre had stood in front the skyscraper’s entrance for a good ten minutes. One of the doormen had even gathered the nerve to ask her if she needed anything – a brave act, considering her face was still looking like murder. But before she could even snarl at him to leave her alone, the poor boy’s face had gone white with shock, and he’d scrambled backwards, nearly bowing parallel to the floor. And before she could snarl at  _that_ , Rhys’ voice had sounded from behind her.   
She whipped herself around, ready to lash out at him for his  _nerve_ , the  _audacity_ to –  
“Ah, ah ah, let’s not do that here.” At least Rhysand – that  _awfully_ good looking man, with his broad shoulders and violet eyes – had the decency to look at least a little bit unnerved by the boiling rage in her eyes. He put a smooth arm around her waist, guiding her towards a room at the side of the building. She was already annoyed, but the ease with which he held onto her made her want to scream.   
So once he closed the door behind them, she did.   
“You absolute ASSHOLE. You and your STUPID Illyrians had the NERVE to come to my bank today! You just.. You just pointed  _guns_ at my people, Rhysand! Guns! Loaded! You could’ve  _killed_  them all!”  
Rhys didn’t even react to the words. “Technically, darling, I wasn’t there at all. I just sent my best to deal with it.” He swallowed. “Though, I must admit that I wasn’t aware that it was  _your_  bank they would be robbing.”  
She stared at him in disbelief. “What does it matter that it was  _my_ bank! There are innocent people in there!”  
Rhys stared at her, amused by her remark. “Feyre, darling, you must realize that I am the biggest criminal in the state? I commit crime for a living. Allegedly, of course.”  
He winked at her. Somehow, that made her want to rip his eyes out.   
“But,” he continued, “then there is also the fact that you  _didn’t_ actually get robbed, now, did you?”  
Okay, she  _definitely_ wanted to rip his eyes out.   
“No,” she grumbled, “but that doesn’t mean –“. She fell silent for a second. “Wait. Why  _did_ I not get robbed?”  
Again, Rhys gave her that slight, horribly attractive smirk.  
“Because, Feyre, darling… I told them not to.”


	2. Nightcrimes chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Feyre Archeron, director of a major bank, is the victim of an attempted robbery, she is suddenly reintroduced to her old highschool sweetheart, Rhys. Rhys is exactly as she remembered, except darker than ever; and it seems that he is no stranger to crime. Feyre’s life is about to drastically change - and whenever Rhys is involved, that can’t be a very good thing.

“Right. I don’t believe you.” Rhys could say whatever he liked. He’d always been good with words, and probably didn’t get to whatever his position was with being honest.   
He just smiled at her in reply, leaning back into his chair, waiting for her to continue talking. She was too stubborn to grant him the delight of seeing it happen. Instead, she just stared at him, trying to hold on to the anger she felt before she stepped inside with Rhys’ arm on her back.   
She didn’t manage for long.   
“Aaaargh!” If she could’ve thrown something at him, she would have.   
Rhys started laughing at that. “ _Don’t_ laugh at me!” She pouted. “Asshole…”   
His left eyebrow shot up. “You’re calling a fearsome crime lord an asshole?”  
“Yes.”   
“Always the fiery one, aren’t you. Would you believe me if I say I’m scared to rob you?” There was a playful light in his eyes. Feyre decided she would just rip his entire _face_ off.   
“No.”  
“Good. I’m not.” _Insolent piece of shit._  
He didn’t say anything again after that. Feyre couldn’t decide whether she wanted to storm out of the room, kill him right where he sat, or burst out in tears. They’d split for a reason. Rhys was a decent enough guy – well, before he apparently became a major mafia boss – but his ability to get under her skin had been infuriating enough when she was a teenager; now it was literally setting her blood on fire. The worst part was that he’d never actually done something harmful: he’d just been very, _very_ annoying.   
And Rhys, suddenly that same 18-year old cocky teenager again – Rhys _grinned_ at her.   
“So,” he started, casually plucking at his nails. “Do you have anything else you want to yell at me? I have a very busy schedule, you know.”  
The undiluted dismissal in his tone sent all her composure down the drain.   
“Listen up, _Rhysand._ I don’t know what you’re planning at. I don’t know what kind of fucked up game it is you think you’re playing but I have _no_ interest in joining you. So I would appreciate if you leave me alone, and leave my employees alone, and just _don’t fucking rob my bank again_. Are we clear?”   
It probably wasn’t the best idea to snarl at an international criminal, but she couldn’t help it. Plus, she figured that it must have meant something that Rhys stopped robbing her, so she took her chances.   
“You were already an ass when we dated. A hot one –“ Rhys’ grin spread at that “– but an ass nonetheless. And now it turns out that you’re a mess as well, and I don’t want that near my investments and life’s work. That stupid ass robbery scared the shit out of me today and I can’t imagine what the customers must think now. My entire life, Rhysand, I have spent my entire –“  
“You’re on my No Harm list, you know,” he interrupted.   
“– life on this stupid ass bank and I – what?”  
He shrugged. “You’re not to be harmed. Anyone who tries will find themselves missing a limb.”  
It took all of her willpower not to gawk at the words. And her brain, her good-for-nothing brain couldn’t manage any other reply than a small, high-pitched “you’d cut off their limbs…?”  
Rhysand lost it. His laughter should’ve been a relief, but instead it made her blood freeze over. All the anger left her, slowly giving way to fear. It really wasn’t smart to snarl at a criminal, and Feyre only realized exactly _how_ dangerous Rhysand was when she remembered that it had been his men storming her bank with automatic rifles. His men, responsible for destruction and death in so many other heists.   
And she was in a locked room with him.   
Alone.   
Rhysand seemed to note her abrupt fear, because he stopped laughing just as fast. That left eyebrow quirked upwards again.   
“Are you scared of me?”  
She refused to look at him.   
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” A surprising softness settled into his tone. “Look, Feyre, I know I was an asshole to you all those years ago. But I like you. You have always been a strong person, and kind, and so I told my people that if harm would become you, someone would have to pay for it. It’s common knowledge, actually. You’re probably the safest person in this entire country.”  
She huffed at that.   
“You don’t have to believe me. But I am sorry about the bank. I really am. The person who made the plan is going to have a hearty chat with me.”  
Feyre squinted her eyes at him. “Why are you even telling me this? Who says I’m not gonna run right back to the police? Who says I didn’t record it?”  
Another shrug. “You were angry.”  
“And here I was, thinking you’d fall to your knees to ask me to be your sidekick.”  
Rhys laughed, a low, dangerous sound. “No, like I said, you were angry. And you do stupid things when you’re angry.”  
Feyre made a noise that sounded most like choking. “I don’t – you can’t just – _RHYS_.“  
Rhys just got up, unlocked the door, and turned back to her. “I sent someone to the police station, Feyre. I had you followed. I’ll send her to escort you home.”  
She was fuming. God, she was _fuming._ She wanted to run after him, make a scene in the foyer, but it wouldn’t do her any good. The director of the state’s biggest financial corporation, yelling at a shady businessman after her bank just got attacked? Not the image she was after. Unfortunately for Rhys, however, there were a few very breakable vases in the room.   
“Well, you’re in a mood.” A too-cheerful police officer stepped over the shards.   
No, not a police officer – Rhysand’s guy. Or, rather, Rhysand’s woman. The same woman she’d seen reporting a statement to officer Vanserra right before it was her turn.   
_You have_ got _to be kidding me._  
“I have a car out front, Miss Archeron. I will escort you home.” The fake police officer held out her arm. Feyre contemplated breaking it.  
Rhysand was _so_ going to pay for this. 


	3. Nightcrimes chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Feyre Archeron, director of a major bank, is the victim of an attempted robbery, she is suddenly reintroduced to her old highschool sweetheart, Rhys. Rhys is exactly as she remembered, except darker than ever; and it seems that he is no stranger to crime. Feyre’s life is about to drastically change - and whenever Rhys is involved, that can’t be a very good thing.

Feyre slammed the door shut behind her. The car ride had been unpleasant at best – she had no idea if the driver had been one of Rhys’ men, too. The female officer, however, had glanced in her direction every other minute, a smile permanently plastered onto her face. At some point, she’d apparently decided to talk to her. Feyre had tried to shut out the chippering voice as much as she could, trying to think of all the administrative hassle she was going to have to sort out tomorrow, but she couldn’t help pick out the “he’s a good guy, you know” and “I am actually impressed with how you completely crushed the financial sector, man, you must be a total badass in meetings”. She hadn’t noticed that she was squeezing her hands into fists until she’d gotten out of that damned car, and semilunar ridges were set into her palm. She hadn’t even been able to open the doors herself, but instead had to wait until the golden hair of that “police officer” appeared in front of the window, her smile still violating Feyre’s own horrible mood.   
She forced herself not to slump against the door. Today had been a complete mess. A quick look on her phone made her groan internally: 15 missed calls and – Feyre now groaned out loud – 426 messages. Most of them from her assistant, who had panicked when Feyre hadn’t picked up her phone for three full hours. She’d been too consumed with imagining all the ways in which she would make Rhys suffer.   
Exhausted, she dumped her purse and coat next to the door and slumped towards the couch. Insufferable asshole. She’d called him that, twice. A giggle bubbled up her throat. She’d called a major crime lord an asshole, and he hadn’t even killed her for it.

She almost fell asleep on the couch. Almost – if it hadn’t been for Lucien calling her.   
“ _What._ ” Feyre immediately cringed at her own tone. She hadn’t meant to sound that bitchy.   
“Miss Archeron, it’s chief Vanserra. Where the hell were you? You bolted out of the station and none of us had any idea where you went! Surely you can understand how that looks right after an attempted robbery?!”  
Oh, Lucien sounded absolutely furious.   
“If you can swear at me, you can also call me Feyre, Lucien.”  
A groan of frustration at the other end of the line. “Really, Feyre. You’re leaving us all to shit ourselves thinking you’re getting yourself killed, and that’s what you’re concerned about?”  
A few seconds passed.   
“Okay, listen,” Lucien’s voice sounded. “If Rhys contacts you, I want to know right away. If you so much as expect something is off, I want you to call me. Even if you forgot you left the door unlocked and can’t remember – you call me, okay.”  
“I will.” Unease settled in her gut at the lie.   
“And Feyre?”  
“Hmm?”  
“If you feel threatened…” Lucien paused just a split second too long. “I can set you up with an officer to guard you, okay? It’s not regular procedure but... you’re a decent woman. I don’t want something nasty to happen to you.”  
Feyre swallowed. “Thanks, Lucien, but… that’s really not necessary. I’m fine. Really. I’m okay, I just.. I just got scared, that’s all.”  
She could hear Lucien processing her statement. Could almost feel his thoughts snap back to the reason he called.   
“Feyre?”  
“Yes?” Somehow, the sudden change in his tone set her on edge.   
“Where did you go?”  
She didn’t know why she lied. Didn’t know why it felt so _wrong_ to say the truth.   
“I just… needed air. I needed space, Lucien. I don’t know what got into me. I just freaked out, and the room was so cold, and I was angry, and… I just needed to get out. I’m sorry if I scared you.”  
If Lucien noticed her lie, he didn’t show it.   
“Well, the offer stands. If you need us, we’ll keep you safe.”  
“Thank you, Lucien. I’ll remember it.”  
He hung up without a reply.   
Feyre stared at the phone in her hand, at the blinking light that kept demanding her to pay attention to her texts. With a sigh, she started replying to the most urgent ones – her sisters and her father, all asking if she was unharmed. The business partners and important clients could watch the news if they wanted information. The only other messages worth answering were from her assistant, Alis. She was just starting on an extensive apology when she got a message from an unknown number.  
Feyre’s heart started banging against her ribs.   
‘ _I knew you wouldn’t rat me out, Feyre darling ;)’_  
With a scream, Feyre threw the phone to the other side of the couch. She took a steadying breath (which didn’t steady her at all) and started stripping out of all of her clothes.   
She found the bug in her jacket’s pocket. _That fucking_ asshole _._  
“FUCK YOU, Rhysand!” Tears started to well up in her eyes. Maybe Lucien’s proposal wasn’t so bad after all.   
Her phone buzzed.   
‘ _If you insist, I have a free spot tomorrow.’_  
She didn’t scream. Didn’t react. She just stared at the swirling water, tears in her eyes, as she flushed the listening device down the toilet.

\----

Rhysand sat at his desk, phone still in his hand. Only two other people were in the room, both of them were key members of his organization. Mor, whom he’d sent to trail Feyre from the police station, and Cassian, the _idiot_ who had recognized Feyre at the bank, when he should have had the sense to look up who owned the place _before_ he burst in with his team. Cassian seemed to know why he was there, because he was smart enough to look guilty. Mor just smiled at both of them from where she’d slung herself over a chair. No one said anything.   
Rhysand unlocked the phone, the messages he’d sent to Feyre almost painfully real on the display. If he was honest with himself, he hadn’t expected Feyre to show up at his front door. His existence wasn’t a secret, nor was his occupation. He just made sure no one could prove what he did, or that those who _could_ wouldn’t even consider it. But Feyre had known where he would be, even though he owned almost the entire street, even though his official home was on the outskirts of town. Feyre had stood outside his front door, basically staring at him through the walls.  
And so he’d done something he’d never done before.  
He’d made a mistake.   
“Cassian.” Rhys leveled an ice cold stare at him.   
A barely audible gulp came from the man on the other side of his desk.   
“You know what happens to people who make mistakes in my organization, don’t you.”  
“I do, Rhys.” To his credit, Cassian kept his gaze. Mor, on the other hand, kept her eyes on her feet. Rhys could swear there was concern on her face.   
“And I trust you know what a monumental mistake this was.” It wasn’t a question.   
Cassian only nodded.   
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
Cassian’s hazel eyes locked on his own. “Would it change anything?”  
Rhys smiled, a cold, cruel thing.   
“No.”  
Cassian leaned back in his chair. “How fucked am I, then?”  
Rhys’ smile warmed up ever so slightly, and he looked over to Mor, who got up out of the chair.   
“Honestly, Cassian, you’re a piece of shit, but Rhys has been even more of a dumbass than you. That hot babe you stared down at the bank?”  
“Watch it, Morrigan,” Rhys growled.   
Mor just rolled her eyes at him. “Turns out she’s his ex, or something. Long time ago, though, so I have no clue why she’s so important, but Rhys here invited her in for a chat.”  
Cassian nearly choked on his own tongue.   
“He did _what_ now?”  
Rhys crossed his legs and folded his hands onto his lap. “May I remind you both that one word from me could kill you.” He almost felt the temperature in the room drop at his words. Mor slowly exhaled and turned back to Cassian.   
“Bottom line is, you’re excused.”  
Cassian’s brows shot up. Hazel eyes scanned Rhys’ face for a hint of betrayal, proof that it was a lie.   
“What’s gotten into you? Are you going soft on me?”  
Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Cassian, but at this point I’m gonna have to clean up a mess I made myself and I’m going to need you for it. I need you fully functioning. So for now, you are excused. But –“ Cassian had a too-smug look on his face. “– you are expected to make up for it. Another mistake like this, and I’ll make you remember how I got to where I am.”  
Rhys leveled another cold stare at him.   
“You’re dismissed.”

Once Cassian had left the room, Mor leaned against the door.   
“How bad is it?”  
Rhys let himself sag in his chair. “She found me, Mor. I mean, I’m not exactly hiding myself but she got here _fast_. It… unnerves me. She’s not a threat, but I can’t have her snooping around either.”  
Mor crossed her arms.   
“Will she talk?”  
Rhysand shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”  
“Think so isn’t knowing. I can make her.”  
He was out of his chair in a second. He didn’t register his feet stalking towards Mor – didn’t realize that his arm was now pinning her against the door, elbow against her throat. Didn’t register the shock in Mor’s eyes.   
“If you hurt her,” he growled, “if you so much as _touch_ her, Morrigan, you will be feeding your fingers to the dogs. If anyone hurts her…” His breath became hot against her cheek. “I will bleed them _dry_.”  
He dropped his arm, slightly stunned with his own rage, the sudden outburst. Mor just stood in front of the door, spine as straight as the wood. She wasn’t easily intimidated.   
“As you wish,” she said flatly. “Don’t come crying when you fuck things up, Rhysand.”  
With that, she left, cold grace in her steps. Rhys watched her walk down the hallway until she disappeared into the elevator.

Feyre’s face stared up at him from the pages. It hadn’t taken him long to find the album – in fact, he knew where it was. He hadn’t looked at it for years, but now here he was, slowly flipping through the pages as if they contained answers to all his questions in life. His eyes locked onto her face in another photo, smiling bright into the camera.   
She’d been so young. She’d been so innocent, so gentle, so… _not_ him. And even now, seventeen years later, she still seemed to be all that. Ruthless in her job, but she was still the same girl. With an overwhelming wave of melancholy, Rhysand realized that he wouldn’t just bleed his enemies dry if they’d touch her.   
No, Rhysand would bleed himself if anything happened to her.


	4. Chapter 4

She’d had better mornings.   
With swollen eyes, Feyre saw her alarm clock click to 6:01am. She let herself roll back onto her back, slinging an arm across her face. If only her past self had known that being your own boss didn’t mean that she would be able to sleep in every morning…   
The fatigue didn’t last long. The memories from the day before hit her harder than the fatigue did, and she was instantly awake again. The board would have a lot of questions for her today. There was likely at least a small group of reporters at her front door. Their shares might have taken a hit. Feyre tried to drown out the thoughts with the piercing rumble of the coffee machine, but the noise only made her notice a budding headache.   
Great.   
It was at moments like these that she felt most alone – and after two seconds, her thoughts had jumped to Rhysand. Rhysand, who had looked absolutely marvelous in his expertly-cut jacket and designer shirt. At the way his expression had softened when he’d noticed her fear. Rhysand, who had spoken so gently when –   
She snapped back to reality. Rhysand, who had tried to _rob_ her, and who was the cause of the mess that her day would be today. Feyre absentmindedly stirred her coffee. Dating that man was the biggest mistake of her life.

Alis fell into step next to her when she arrived at the highest floor of her office. Her brown hair was bound into a tight bun, and stern reading glasses hung from her neck.   
“Are you ready for this meeting?” Alis didn’t look at her as she walked.   
“Do you want the honest answer, or the reassuring one?”  
Alis shrugged. “I don’t care, as long as you don’t get shred to bits by the board. I know it’s not something you could’ve stopped,” she said, putting a hand on Feyre’s arm. “But they don’t like a woman at the top, Feyre. They won’t care if it’s unjust, they’ll take any shot at removing you from your position. Even if you earned your place here.”  
Feyre let her shoulders sag. “I know, Alis. Whatever I do, I’m still his daughter. Even if I worked my way up to the top without my dad’s help. Even if he made me fight for it.”  
Alis gave her a look that was more like a hug with eyes. “They should be grateful it’s you, and not your sister.”  
She snorted at that. “Nesta, leading a company? I’d like to keep my head if I make mistakes, no thanks.”  
Alis gave her a small smile, and put her hand on the doorknob.   
Feyre took a steadying breath.   
“Well, here we go.”

Eleven pairs of eyes bored into her skin like needles. Three vice presidents: Viviane, Beron and Tarquin, one for each district, and an assistant each; the CFO, Tamlin, and his assistant; and the three main shareholders: her sisters, Nesta and Elain, and her father. Feyre willed herself to calmly walk to the head of the table, to not shiver at the silence that hung heavy in the air. Her older sister kept her gaze on Feyre’s face, noting her every movement. Feyre wasn’t sure if it was a good sign.   
Alis took the seat next to her and stared down each of the attending men and women in the room. Without further delay, her cool voice cracked the silence.   
“We called this meeting to discuss the events of yesterday afternoon, when a branch of Archeron Finance became the site of an attempted robbery.” Alis went over the incident in a matter-of-fact tone, leaving no space for the other members of the board to interrupt her. Feyre found herself examining their faces, looking for hints of disapproval, of distrust. She found it mainly in Beron, who kept throwing daggered glares at her, and in Tamlin, who split his gaze between her and his teal-eyed assistant.   
Alis had finished her report. “Does any of the members of this board wish to reply to these events?”  
It was utterly silent for a few horrible, gut-wrenching seconds. Until Beron, his eyes still on Feyre, leaned forward.   
“I do have something to ask of our CEO,” he declared, swiping his gaze over the room. “How is she going to restore the company’s name? We claim to provide safety for our customer’s property. A hit like this won’t be forgotten by our investors.”   
Feyre smiled tightly at him. “First of all, Beron, our claim has not been violated. Our customer’s property remains their own. And second, if anything, we managed to protect it even in the face of adversity. There might actually be a positive effect.” A soft murmur went through the room, and a few heads nodded in agreement. Beron only inclined his, his mouth drawn in a tight line.   
More questions came her way, some answered for her by Viviane and Tarquin, who had spoken with a few of their biggest investors. Her father announced that their stock index was already recovering from yesterday’s news, her sisters like stone sculptures at his side. After slightly less than two hours, the meeting seemed to come to an end.   
“Does someone still have issues to discuss?” Alis surveyed the others at the table.   
“Yes, actually.” Every single head snapped to Tamlin, who had said hardly anything during the entire meeting.   
“My assistant tells me you had a meeting yesterday afternoon, Feyre.”   
Feyre almost dropped the papers she was organizing. “Did she now.”   
Tamlin’s green eyes were fixed on her own.   
“I heard you were in a hurry to get out of the police station for it.”  
Feyre lowered her voice. “I was staring into the barrel of a gun only hours before that, Tamlin. Pray forgive me for being unnerved.” Again, a murmur went through the room, angry stares directed at Tamlin, but this time, there were curious eyes on her as well. People who wondered where she ran off to.   
“Ianthe, would you like to tell the board what you told me?” Tamlin was still looking at her while he said it, ice lacing the words. Ianthe only smiled at his question.   
“A trustworthy source told me that Feyre headed towards the industrial district.”  
Tarquin let out a bored sigh. “So she walked a mile or two. Why is that so outrageous?”  
Ianthe smiled coyly at him. “Starfall industries is located in that district.” Tarquin only raised an eyebrow.   
“And that’s important, why?”  
“Why don’t you tell us who you met, Feyre?” Tamlin’s words slithered towards her.   
Feyre held his gaze. “I don’t see why that’s important.”   
“It’s important,” Tamlin said, leaning his elbows on the table, “because you went to visit your ex-boyfriend, Rhysand. Who just _happens_ to run a major crime syndicate.”   
A gasp went through the board members. Feyre could only hope her cheeks wouldn’t burn.   
“For what it’s worth, Tamlin, it’s not proven that he does. And if your _assistant_ –“ she spat the word at Ianthe “– would have actually put some effort into her detective hobby, she would have known that I went there to ask about his involvement. That I got no answers. And that I was escorted home by the police.” Feyre swallowed. ”My being there wasn’t a secret.”  
A lie. The same one she told Lucien, the same feeling of wrongness as she said it.   
“I already realized I should let the police do their work, Tamlin. Perhaps you need the reminder as well.”  
Tamlin sneered at her. “How convenient that you knew exactly where he would be, don’t you think? Almost as if you had agreed to meet.”  
Nesta reacted before Feyre could.   
“If you are suggesting that your CEO has shady connections to crime, Tamlin, I would suggest you start looking at your own circle first. Your assistant seemed to know exactly where _she_ should look, too, didn’t she?” Ianthe had the good sense to look startled.   
“Your boss could have died yesterday. My _sister_ could have died yesterday, and you have the audacity to question her morality? If anyone here has questionable intentions, Tamlin, it’s you.”  
Nesta’s words hit them hard. Chaos erupted across the table, everyone trying to talk over each other until Feyre’s father exploded.   
“ENOUGH! If anyone else would like to question my daughter, now is the time. I’ve heard enough spineless gossiping. This is a board meeting for crying out loud. Act like it.”  
No one answered.  
“That settles it, then. This meeting is over.”  
Feyre only realized she’d been holding her breath until her father pushed his chair back, got up, and walked out of the room without saying anything else.


	5. Chapter 5

She couldn’t breathe. Ianthe knew, Tamlin knew, and she couldn’t breathe, there was no air, no oxygen, she couldn’t –   
“Feyre? Feyre, breathe.” Feyre could only wheeze. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. You can do it. Breathe, Feyre, I’m right with you.” Alis was in kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders. “That’s it, deep inhale, long exhale. You’re okay, Feyre, it’s okay.”  
She was seated on the floor of her own office, fingernails digging into her palms. Gods, the mess she was in… All she could see was Tamlin’s ice-cold stare, Ianthe’s smug, sneering face somehow managing to look down on her even from where she was seated. After what felt like an hour, she could finally breathe again. A sob rose in her throat.   
“Gods, Alis, why did I ever think this was a good idea?”  
Alis looked at her with empathy in her eyes.   
“Because you’re the best thing about this company, Feyre. You’re honest and you work hard. We need you here, even those who don’t see it.”  
Feyre slumped back against the desk behind her. “They must think I’m an idiot.”  
“No.” Alis shook her head. “They probably think Tamlin’s a huge dick, though.”  
That got Feyre to laugh nervously. “Yeah..”  
Both of them stayed silent for a while, until Alis leveled her eyes with hers.   
“Will you ever tell me the truth? Of why you visited Rhysand?”  
Feyre turned her eyes towards the floor. “You know I can never keep secrets from you, Alis. You have a sense for these things. It’s why I hired you.”  
A grin from the woman opposite of her. “Maybe. But I also want the best for this company, and if you decide to get back to bad ex-boyfriends, I might have to stop you.”  
Another nervous laugh. “Trust me Alis, I don’t want him anywhere near me again.”  
And yet… Yet somehow, Feyre couldn’t help but think of Rhysand. Of the taunting messages he’d sent her. Of his face in his back office, all calm and collected. The high school bad boy who always got what he wanted. The jock who, secretly, had a heart made of gold.   
No, not gold, she forced to remind herself. Crime lords didn’t have clean hands.

It was already dark when she got home. She’d promised Alis that she would talk to her somewhere next week, when all of the dust had settled. Exhausted, Feyre closed the door behind her and turned on the lights. It took a few seconds for her to register the difference in the room – next to the door was a huge bouquet of wildflowers, assembled with great care.   
Feyre’s heart started beating in her chest. _Oh, gods._ With trembling hands, she reached for the flowers, finding a small card attached to a beautiful orange rose.   
_Dear mrs. Archeron,_  
I am terribly sorry for the harm my indolence may have caused you. Please accept these lovely flowers as reconciliation. I made sure to match them to your temper.   
Yours truly,   
A hot piece of ass  
P.S. No listening devices this time  
Stunned, she looked at the paper in her hands. First, he tried to have her killed, and now he sent her flowers? What the hell was wrong with him?   
“I’m not gonna fall for that, Rhysand!” Feyre’s voice briefly echoed through the apartment.  
Silence. She looked around suspiciously, half expecting him to walk out into the hall, half expecting her phone to buzz with an answer again. This time, however, she would be ready for him. But nothing came.   
“Guess you actually kept your promise this time,” she muttered, clutching the pressed paper in her hand. The damned asshole. For a second, she debated calling chief Vanserra about the break-in – but reporting it would mean explaining why there was a break-in in the first place, and usually burglars didn’t leave beautiful bouquets of flowers.   
In reply, the flowers just stood there in all their glory. Feyre eventually placed them on the coffee table, still holding the paper tight. She didn’t dare to throw it away. Staring at it, she wondered if she should burn it (they always burned it in movies), but after a while, she just hid it in a drawer of her desk, intending to never think of it again.

\---

“How did your girlfriend like the flowers?” Rhysand still jumped the slightest bit when Azriel’s voice slid out from the shadows in his office.   
“I wouldn’t know, my friend,” he coolly replied. “I truly didn’t wire it this time.”  
Azriel let his eyes go over the desk. “If only you had a guy who had a knack for stalking, huh…” Carefully, he picked up a few papers scattered on the glass table. “Are these what I think they are?”  
Rhysand kept himself from snatching the papers away. “Would you ask if you didn’t already know the answer?”  
Azriel didn’t even look up from the papers.  
“Yes, they’re the financial reports from Archeron Finance. I had Mor get them for me a few weeks ago.”   
That got Azriel’s attention. “A few _weeks_ ago?” Rhys only nodded.   
“So you knew, then.”  
Another nod. “I did know she owns the company, yes. But that’s where you come in, Azriel. Something is wrong with these reports. There is money missing. I ordered Cassian to get it back into decent hands, but he fucked up, as you might have noticed.“ Azriel huffed.   
“What if she’s just stealing it herself?”  
Rhysand casually shrugged. “I won’t pretend decent people can do stupid things, Az. But I’m fairly certain it wasn’t Feyre. That job is her life. I have no suspicions that she might have ambitions like my own.”  
Azriel flipped through the pages. “If you hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have noticed there was money missing.”  
“It’s well hidden,” Rhysand agreed. “But not well enough for our Amren.”  
“You got her to check them.”  
“I did. And she found where it’s going.”  
Azriel chuckled, a humorless sound. “Let me guess, Columbia?”  
Rhys clenched his jaw. “Venezuela. Same destination, however. Drugs. Weapons. The occasional political assassination.”  
“And you want me to find the guy who did it.”  
Rhys turned around to face him. “Yes.”  
Azriel folded the papers into a bag he seemingly materialized out of thin air. “Consider it done, then. What about miss Archeron?”  
Rhysand went back to looking out of the window, staring in the direction of the city center.   
“I want you to find out everything you can.”


	6. Chapter 6

Alis was knocking on her door. She hadn’t noticed it, the knocks soft at first, but as Alis peeped her head into the office, Feyre realized she must have been knocking for a good minute.   
“Come in,” she motioned, and Alis slid through the door, closing it behind her as soft as she’d knocked. Feyre gave her a small smile, her desk littered with paperwork. Most things had gone back to normal a week after the board meeting. Including the paperwork.   
“What can I help you with?”  
Alis, to Feyre’s surprise, looked to her feet. “Alis?”  
A deep breath.   
“It’s been a week, Feyre.” Alis’ gaze settled on her like a net.   
It had been a week. More than a week, even. She had promised Alis to tell her why she went to visit Rhys, what he’d said to her, what he’d confessed. What she’d kept secret. And now she was asking for it, and Feyre didn’t know if she was ready to tell her. If she was ready to confess.  
“I don’t know if I can tell you all of it, Alis.”  
Alis just smiled that mother’s smile at her. “I can’t force you to tell me anything, Feyre. You don’t have to trust me with things like these. Tell me what you want to tell me. I’m not going to be mad at you for things you can’t tell.”  
Always logical, always kind. Alis had never been anything but understanding. Feyre wanted to tell her – she wanted to, wanted to have someone understand what she was going through, wanted for someone to listen to her. She’d been thinking about it the entire time, without anyone to confide in. Rhysand’s face kept haunting her dreams. She kept staring into the barrel of a gun, held by his hand, only for him to apologize when he shot her. It didn’t hurt, in her dream. What hurt was the look on his face after he shot her, time after time after time.   
“He didn’t mean to rob me,” she finally whispered. Alis moved to hold her hand.   
“I know it sounds stupid – ‘he didn’t mean to!’ – but he really didn’t. He didn’t know it was my bank. He called his men back, Alis, but I was so angry, so I went there and I yelled at him.” She let out a shuddering sob. “Gods, if I think about it now, it sounds so naïve, doesn’t it? And yet here I am, believing him when he said he didn’t mean it, that he wasn’t after me. I went there and yelled at him and I came back so surprised that it defeated me.” A huffed laugh escaped her lips. “He sent me flowers, even. A big, beautiful bunch of them.”  
Alis only squeezed her hand.   
“I guess I just want to forget… I want to pretend it never happened. But I keep thinking about it, Alis. I keep thinking about it, because I don’t _understand_ , I don’t get why he would do that. I want to go there and force him to tell me, but I also want to forget him… do you get it?” Feyre sagged her head down onto the desk. “And now I’m in this mess. Gods, I just want this to never have happened…”  
Alis moved to cup Feyre’s cheek. “You can’t get it out of your head, can you?”  
Feyre shook her head, still lying on her desk. “I keep asking myself the same question. Why? Why was I important enough? I keep thinking of it as some act of kindness – only to imagine myself staring into the barrel of a gun moments later, thinking I would die. I can’t make up my mind about it.”  
Alis’ softly stroked her thumb across Feyre’s cheek, her hand warm against Feyre’s skin, but didn’t say anything.   
“I thought that maybe I should see a therapist. But then what? I’d only have to relive that moment over and over again, and a therapist isn’t going to solve the problem of a _literal_ crime lord breathing in my neck. Plus, at this point, I don’t even know who I can trust.”  
Alis took Feyre’s chin in her hand and gently made their eyes meet. “Feyre, don’t let yourself be pulled under by this. I can see how this is eating you up, and if you excuse my honesty, I would say it’s a very good idea to look for someone who can help you work this out. I can’t pretend to know how you feel, but I do know that you’re suffering. You’re practically wasting away in your office. Don’t do this to yourself, sweetheart. Don’t let him win.”  
Feyre swallowed down a sob. “But how? How can I stop myself from losing? I keep thinking, what if he shows up again? Worse – what if I can’t handle it anymore and seek him out?”  
Alice straightened her spine, her small frame rising above Feyre behind her desk. “It’s no use to dwell on the what-ifs, Feyre. You are not like this. You are the woman who singlehandedly conquered the stock market when she was 28. You are the woman who got there by grim determination and ruthless ambition. You are a _fighter_ , Feyre. You’re a huntress. _If_ Rhysand decides that this story’s ending isn’t the way he liked, then he will find that you have teeth. And if you need help in sharpening those teeth, Feyre Archeron, then I will be there every step of the way. But you do not cower. You do not let him win.”  
Alis’ conviction washed over Feyre word for word, until she started to believe it too.   
“Good. Now raise that pretty head of yours, girl.”   
Feyre lifted her chin, until she felt like the huntress Alis said she was.   
“There you go,” Alis smiled. “You can do this, Feyre. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. And if you can’t find that strength, there are always people who can help you gather it.”   
Feyre smiled at her. “Thank you, Alis… I think I needed that more than I’d like to admit.”  
Alis grinned back at her. “Well, you can always give me a raise, I would say…”  
“ _Alis,_ don’t push it,” Feyre laughed.   
“I’m just glad to see you smile, Feyre.” With that, she moved to the door, ready to leave. “Don’t forget that I’ll always be here if you need me.”  
Feyre nodded. “I won’t. Thank you, Alis. I’ll think of that raise.”  
Alis winked at her before she left, closing the door behind her. Feyre could see her silhouette walk away through the opaque glass, distorting her features until she was a smudge of dark against the bright light of the hallway. Behind her, the city spread out underneath her office on the upper floor of the building they owned, which seemed to touch the blue-grey sky. Even with her back to the glass wall, Feyre swore she could feel the red brick building of Starfall Industries looming over her, swore that she could feel its owner staring up at her in her large skyscraper, his gaze crossing straight through the city and into her office. It was impossible, of course, and useless to think about it anyway – so Feyre gathered a new pile of papers, losing herself in the deskwork that had piled up throughout the last week.   
And a few blocks away, a man tore violet eyes away from the glass-and-metal tower of Archeron Finance, hoping that he hadn’t made a wrong call when he let the woman with eyes like the sky walk away from him seven days ago.


End file.
